"Yeh, I know. So-what do we do?"

"Pray, maybe. Meanwhile we've delivered two of the earlier model, on the self-propelled carts. They're stable, and good for protecting a group in the open. Some of the lightweights haven't shown the flaw yet, but it seems to be unpredictable. If we don't get a solid solution, do you want to take a chance on the ones that haven't failed, or just skip it?"

Barton didn't have to think twice. "Take the chance.

One thing-you're testing under maximum sustained attack. If we get into that kind of bind, we're already in big trouble."

"Okay. But we'll keep plugging, right up to the last minute, before we give up and hand you that option."

"Good enough, Slowboat. Oops-looks like I'm being paged."

It was, indeed. Barton's turn at the podium. First, he thanked all for their concern with the Earthani's troubles, and reassured them that he was once again accessible to his friends. Then, unsure of how much Tarleton had told of the strike-force plans, he gave a fast roundup, including contingencies. "And I guess that covers it," he said.

"Questions?"

Tamirov interpreted for a Filjar. "Why go we to Sis- shain, and not to Demrribn where Demu power is massed?"

"Because Hishtoo goes to Sisshain. And because on that planet is something of importance to the Demu- more so than the ships and weapons of the Demmon sec- tor."

And what is this thing? I do not know. How do you know its importance? I was told. By whom? I may not say. Are we, then, to go in ignorance? Yes-as we our- selves go; there is no choice, if we are to go at all.

The emphasis on Barton's final remark ended that line of questioning.

Next, a Tilaran asked why the Demu, if beaten, were not to be punished. Barton inhaled deeply.

"We know of one race, only, that achieved agreement that the Demu do not molest it. That agreement has worked. It did not include punishment. We follow a suc- cessful precedent. If we were to try to punish, the result might be not peace, but endless war."

255.

The questioner persisted, but Barton shook his head and would not answer. Finally, be said, "Come with us, or do not. In either case it will be as I have said." As be left the podium, he thought: not exactly my day for tact.

Lunchtime. Barton chose a bowl of ouilan, the Trekan "sticky soup," and was surprised that the limited supply of such a delicacy had not been exhausted. With it he took a cup of Tilaran klieta; the two flavors blender

well.

As before, his group sat alone. But as Barton sipped the last of the klieta, Kimchuck approached, a shallow bowl in each furry hand.

"Dreif, Barton?" Barton nodded, and smiled his thanks. "Effort of talk shows effect on you. The dreif will restore." This time the mud-soup look and taste didn't bother Barton; he took it gladly, and soon felt the char- acteristic relaxed alertness.

'Thanks, Kimchuk. Say-I don't suppose we could get a little of that to take along? With the strike force., I mean?"

The Filjar tipped its head to one side, and back again.

"Would be glad, Barton. But cannot."

"oh?"

"Dreif must be new. In a day it changes and is of harm, not to be eaten. Making dreif is secret skill; 1,-do not know. Among Filjar here, only one does."

"I see. Well, thanks anyway, Kimcbuk." Too bad, he thought-that's a great little booster shot you've got there.

The FilJar clasped Barton's shoulder and left to rejoin its own group.

The conference reconvened, analyzing in detail the morning's results. Barton followed the talk until it began to repeat Tarleton's notes from the previous day, so closely as to make little difference.

It wasn't exactly repetition, he decided. It was dissec- tion of problems down to the level of individual tasks-a level that Tarleton had to leave to others. Barton listened with half an ear and let most of his mind wander. Some of its wanderings were less pleasant than others-livay and Gerain, for instance....

At the next break, Corval came to offer Barton a cup of the Larka-Te beverage that was first tasteless, then all aftertaste. He started to accept, then remembered.

"Thanks, Corval, but I'd better not. I had some dreif from

256.

Kimchuk, at lunch-and he says the two do not go well together."

"He is right," said Corval. "Very well-it will not be of waste." The Larka-Te was smiling in one mode that Barton bad learned to recognize without mistake.

"I see your smile and am of gladness," he said. "Tell me, Corval-of what are we in agreement?"

"Of the Demu, of punishment." The smile changed to one Barton could not interpret. After a moment, Corval put it into words. "Do we punish an animal of predation, even though it kill our young? No. We prevent-if we cannot otherwise, we kill it. Punishment is not of rel- evance.

"We go to prevent the Demu. It may be some must be killed that the rest agree of prevention. But once agreed, what point of putting hurt to Demu for hurt given by Demu?"

Slowly Barton nodded. "I'm glad you agree, Corval.

But do you speak for all Larka-Te?"

"For most. And those who are not of agreement will be of obedience."

"That's good to know. I am of thanks, Corval, that you have told me."

The break was over. As the final session began, a Tilaran came to Barton. "Your ship would be of speech to you." Barton followed the man to a viewscreen. It was Tarleton calling.

"If they're down to the small stuff," he said, "why don't you come on back to the ship? Pass the notebook to Slow- boat, and remind the strike group that we meet here to- night for a recap. Okay?" Barton nodded; the screen went blank.

He briefed SIobodna and took his leave. Outside, the car waited; obviously, Tarleton had known he'd be ready to return. He greeted the woman driver, got into the car, and sat back to watch the scenery.

The feathery trees were less yellow now; the green of foliage showed, in some cases, a purplish tinge. It came to him that he had no idea of Tilara's seasons-except that be was pretty sure the current one was not winter.

He'd have to remember and ask Limila ....

Entering the ship, he saw and heard no one. By habit, he went first to look in the galley.

He froze. "Hishiool" The robe and hood, the lobster

257.

face-figure too large to be Eeshta. But-Hishtoo? The surging adrenaline, buffered by Kimchuk's dreif, began to

subside.

"AU right-what the hell is this?"

The creature's laugh was soft. "Realistic, isn't it. Bar- ton? I thought you'd be pleased." The voice was a